The Parting of the Ways
by Very Sincerely Yours
Summary: Abraham wrote that he and Henry part ways for a time before he became president. What he failed to mention was the small sequence of events, the time when he found his friend broken and bleeding and sought his own revenge. Hurt!Henry, written for the Five and the good doctor, who loves Henry just as much as I.


The Parting of the Ways

**This is my English assignment, which was supposed to be 500 words but kinda… escalated.**

**I'm very proud, so I hope you all enjoy.**

**~.~**

_Here Lies the Journal of Abraham Lincoln._

I said that Henry and I part ways for a time. That I put away my childish toys and that words became more effective. That as the nation rested its soul upon my shoulders I bore the weight without turning to my old ways. I lied.

It was only once I broke my rule. Once was all it took, all that was needed. What matters is it broke, was broken by my own hand, and written on a torn page. A page that was later burnt to ashes. The secret remained a secret, the only one that was never compromised. The only one that was forever known to only those who bore witness to it with their own eyes. Only Henry and I.

It was barely months before the war began, my road to greatness still standing long and hard before me. We all knew what was on the horizon, but politics was always difficult as it thrashed in our grasp. Words were all that mattered, facts twisted to suit theories and voiced to provide the needy with what they wished to hear, whether or not it was truth. It was the one time where lies had power, great power, but truth would always be a worthy adversary.

On that one fateful night I donned my top-hat and brought my coat close around me. It was cold, and I considered growing a beard to protect my chin from biting wind in the future. Rain poured heavily against my shoulders, my back, and before long I was damp through and through, no longer bothering to fight against it. I walked down the empty street, the lamplight doing nothing to illuminate my surroundings. I walked, contemplating my position and where it could lead me. The Senator once said he could connect me with the right people, and he did; but what was to become of me then? What would become of me now? It troubled my mind, my thoughts, and although I was long out of practice in my hunting art, I still believe myself foolish not to have seen the signs. The patter of rain against a shirt, not coat, sticking to slippery skin. The soft thump of footsteps following my own, slightly uneven and sliding against the cobblestones. I should have known someone was there.

When I finally stopped, it still took too long. The breathing was what gave it away eventually. It was heavy and pained, dancing about between the raindrops before falling hard with them. When I turned, my eyes, out of practice just like the rest of me, only saw a dark figure, like a living shadow - standing, watching, breathing. The street light next to me did not reveal its face, the glow creating a circle between us. We stood. Time passed. I did not keep track of it like I should have.

I saw the figure begin to shake. I took notice, but did nothing except will my eyes to focus. I had no weapon, so I did not advance, only held my ground. I realize now I needn't have been so concerned, although I had every right to be. As the shadow fell, with a thud, to its knees, the light finally reached up and showed me the face. His face. Henry.

And I found myself lurching forward, catching Henry before his torso fell against the ground beneath us. We knelt together, my pants submerged in a deep puddle of dirty water, the light shining down from above. Henry's head found its place on my shoulder, his hair matted with mud and other things that I did not care to discover. He had no glasses, no hat or coat, only a thin shirt, torn in places and clinging to his skin. The same was to be said for his pants, and his boots seemed to contain more water than flesh. He shook, his arms hanging down limply as I held my own around him. I did all I could to keep him upright.

We must have looked mad, kneeling in the gutter in the dead of night, but all I thought of was the man in my arms. It had been so long. I was sure I hadn't left him like this.

And should Henry ever read this, although I know he won't, he should know how I felt. How I feel. It may be improper, no overly so, but slightly. I do not love him like I do Mary, for that would be improper, but love is definitely there, creeping over my skin and clouding my eyes. I find myself believing us to be brothers, or at least wishing us to be so. It is not like when we first met, when I was merely a disciple and he my wise, if not a little strange, mentor. No, we are equals now, or as equal as we would come for some time. So you must believe me, Henry, when I say I was shaken. You were unmoving in my arms, save for routine tremors that did nothing to ease my fear. I was scared for you, for what had been done to you, and as I sat, my mind was swirling, whirling, over and over with worry and guilt and fear. I hadn't seen you in months, Henry, years even; and you were thrust upon me suddenly and in circumstances that shook me more than a horde of vampires. I was afraid, and it was your doing.

I don't know when or by what means my trance ended, nor do I remember the route I took to my lodgings with Henry in my arms. I kicked the wooden door open and then closed, caring little for the lock that yielded under the force of my boot. I took him to my own room, laid him upon my own bed before turning to illuminate the space. His wheezing breath and my impatient footfalls filled the silence until my fumbling fingers found a match and then there was candlelight emerging from the dark and flittering across the walls. The cold had seeped inside, I didn't notice it until I felt the heat of the flame close to my palm, and I slipped off my coat to remove as much of the dampness on my person as possible. My top hat came off also, and I carried the candle to the table by the bed, closer to Henry to try to identify any injury. I wanted to start a fire, burn wood in the old grill on the wall, to try and stop my friend shaking. It was unnerving, I could feel my hands shake as his did, alongside his own.

When I looked over Henry closely for the first time since we crossed paths that night, I saw what I feared most. Not because of what it was, but the many implications. Blood, as expected, could mean so many different things. Love, pleasure, connection. Pain, loss, death. The blood I had seen, both the thick, blackish blood of the vampires and the thin, pale blood running down my mother's arm, held unwanted memories. Ones I longed to forget, but would stay with me forever. This was no different.

Henry's blood wasn't as thick as the vampire blood I'd encountered in the past, and it only served to remind me that as much as I said I cared for Henry, I didn't really know him. I had left him alone. I claim him as a brother, I wish him as one, and I know that not to change my ways would contradict everything I leant from my emotions. It is one thing to love someone, another to support them like loved ones should. With that in mind, I turned his head to the side and tapped his cheek, as gently as my shaking fingers would allow. There was no response.

I returned my hands to Henry's side, fingering the torn and bloody material there. I peeled it back, ignoring how it stuck to clammy skin, trying to see past the blood that had accumulated there. Although it was not thick, it still obscured my view. I turned away from him, first filling a pot with water and fetching a rag before setting the firewood in the grate alight. More dancing flames flittered across the walls, larger and angrier than before. They illuminated the shocking contrasts, the paleness of Henry's skin and the shadows under his eyes, both a sickly yellow in the glow.

With a deliberate slowness, such I did not realize I was capable of, I took the rag, dampened it, and began to wipe the blood, having to rip Henry's shirt further once the wound revealed itself. It was large and gaping open, like his ribs had ripped him apart from the inside out in an effort to free themselves of their fleshy prison. It marred his entire side, barely stretching across to graze his abdomen, huge and ugly and I felt sick. There was the jagged and torn flesh, the white of tissue, cartilage and bone visible amongst the inky red. The creamy pus of used white blood cells, or what I assumed to be so, now immobile and useless after attempting to fight infection. More fighting than a single night's worth. My stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

And then, when I thought I had seen the worst of it all, a flash of metal caught my eye, shining and silver amongst the blood. I brought the candle closer, using my shaking fingers to push aside some haggard flesh. Pressing in further, I realized that my eyes were not fooling me. It was there, artificial and glinting in the candlelight. Ever curious, I brushed the pad of my thumb against it. Henry finally offered a response, only not the one I had hoped for. There was the jerk, a single, violent spasm, sending ripples of sickening convulsions throughout the rest of his body. The gasping, increasing in volume as air scratched against his constricting airways. I withdrew my hand quickly, as if Henry's innards had grown teeth and bitten me. My eyes stung and my frame quivered. I didn't dare move until Henry was near silent once more.

The object I saw, the metal of some kind, was large and imbedded deeply within Henry. I did not see any edges, only a smooth plane, coated in blackish-red. There were no carvings, it wasn't dented or marred. Sections of it glinted, like tiny stars in a bloody sky, shining and silver and-

_'You will never see a vampire with silver on their person.'_

My heart faltered. I was left staring, my eyes wide and unbelieving, at the object imbedded in my friend's side. The blood on my hands did not register, nor did the pounding in my ears. It wasn't until I felt foreign fingers putting pressure on my own, weak yet strangely reassuring, that I looked up at Henry's face again. This time, and to my immense relief, he was looking back at me.

And for a number of seconds, another section of time that I did not care to keep track of, that is all we did. My eyes found momentary peace in his, as did his in mine. An unspoken message was passed, a sense of reassurance, the re-acquaintance of our thoughts.

_It's good to see you again._

And then it was gone. The blessed peace left us, flying off with the cold draft, and Henry's pained gasps returned once more. He threw his head back, panting and groaning through his teeth, his fingers clenching painfully around my own. I gripped equally tightly, using my other hand to hold him immobile, lest he move and jar his injured side. He choked out a laugh, his lips stained red with blood, his head lolling back against the mattress beneath him.

"Abe," he gasped, his face twisting into a mask of pain, his voice choked yet strangely cheerful, much like the Henry I remembered. "It's...been a wh-ile."

I found a sad smile stretching across my face, and lifted my hand, the one that was not held in his own, to brush dark and sticky hair off his forehead. I left said hand there for a moment afterwards, feeling heat burning beneath my palm, and smiling wider as I saw his eyes cross as they attempted to watch the extremity. He looked back at me and blinked, once, twice, his large eyes still vaguely unfocused and shining in the candlelight.

"What have you done to yourself, Henry?" was all I could ask.

The laugh sounded again, a horrible, hollow sound, that soon morphed into another groan. Henry squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth clenched tightly.

"Henry," I said again, a hint of panic lacing my voice. "Henry, speak to me!"

"Chris-tian ."

"Christian?"

He offered a single nod, his voice rasping and his eyes still sealed. "One of A-Adam's men."

"...human?" I asked, and cursed my mind for being so slow. Henry only gave another nod, fatigue evident on his features. He was overcome with either pain or exhaustion, I didn't care to know which. I decided to leave the interrogation until later, and ran my bloody fingers through his hair in an effort to calm him.

"Rest, Henry. I'll figure it out."

"Is that- the truth, Abraham?" he asked in reply, a ghost of a smile twisting his lips upward ever so slightly.

I listened as his breathing slowly evened out, still shallow and lingering on the edge of sleep, praying that it would grant him reprieve. Praying that it would offer Henry an escape from the pain. My fingers continued stroking his scalp of their own accord, and I schooled my own heartbeat, just as Henry taught me to do all those years ago. I didn't dare look down at my friend's bloody injury.

And just as I thought Henry had drifted off into sleep, I heard his voice again, groggy and somewhat adorable as he mumbled through his words. His drowsiness seemed to distract him from or mask the pain he was feeling. Sleep was coming easily, but Henry was never one to take things lying down.

"Get...get it out," where his soft words, barely audible and thick with fatigue.

I didn't question him, nor did I halt in my movements for even a second, instead giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. This was another duty that he had entrusted to me and it came along with an unspoken message, much like the notes he once left, in pocket watches and on odd pieces of parchment. Similar, but not the same. Because this message wasn't an imperative, he wasn't giving me orders or putting me in danger. Not intentionally, not like he used to.

And the biggest difference was that for once, once, in Henry's entire life, he had put his faith in someone other than himself. He had found someone to trust.

_Don't leave._

Henry slept for the better part of an hour, his wheezing breath the only sound reminding me that he was alive. The room was still cold, the breeze never ceasing, the cold never turning and crawling away. The floor creaked beneath my feet, moaning, groaning, threatening to snap and force me under as punishment for consorting with the dead. The room around me seemed to quiver, shivering in the cold and in fear. Fear of the broken man laying helpless amongst the sheets.

Even nature contained absurdity. Henry was living, dead, proof.

I am no medical man. I look at Henry and don't know where to begin. So I'll admit, that for the better part of an hour, as Henry slept, I barely made progress of any kind.

There was the pacing, my first course of action. A coping mechanism, the only thing keeping me sane.

Then I finally found the sense to feed the fire and place drapes over Henry. Drapes I removed only seconds later, deciding that they may interfere with the vampiric healing process.

Which only reminded me that I wasn't actually aware of the vampiric healing process.

That, in turn, warranted another episode of pacing.

When Henry woke after that better part of said hour, a cold cloth had been pressed against his burning forehead, his shirt removed and the blood around his wound cleaned, leaving only pink smears behind. The room was noticeably warmer, though the sky visible through the window was still inky and dark. The breeze was no longer crippling, and another candle had been lit and sat immobile on the table next to Henry. The room still shone yellow and orange, flaming pictures playing across the walls.

He caught me watching them, watching my past color the wooden panels around us.

"Abe?"

My eyes left the glow and the shadows seemed to grow as I turned to meet his gaze. I gave him a reassuring smile, not convincing but the best I could manage.

He saw straight through me.

"You look- older."

Another smile, this time genuine.

"Time does not escape me as it does you, Henry. It has been a while."

"Too long."

I bowed my head in silent agreement.

The room remained silent for a few endless moments, a tiny fraction of time, the most awkwardness I'd ever known.

And then Henry broke the silence with another laugh, almost as if he couldn't bare the noiselessness and the emotion that came with it. I would never judge him for that, never, because I know that he has spent his entire life staring down the barrel of oblivion and knowing, always knowing, that he would never be free of Time's malicious claws. That there would be silence, endless silence, that everything would fade as he lived out eternity with nothing but guilt, regret and memories of old haunting him. That he had happiness and he let it slip through his fingers, forever beyond his reach.

"It's always like this, isn't it? I'd say we're even now."

He looked up at me, eyes glazed over and unfocused, grin lopsided and juvenile, reminding me how young he is. How young he was.

"I'd say so. You're not drunk are you?"

He shook his head somewhat sluggishly, grin still wide, rough and hearty chuckles forcing their way up his throat. Part of me didn't trust him; he looked completely wasted - but I knew Henry better than that. I thought I did. I may not trust him completely, but I do trust him to tell the truth. That'd have to do.

"Henry," I began again, this time more urgently. I turned his chin with the palm of my hand, forcing his glossy eyes to meet mine. "I need to know what happened."

Henry's eyes immediately darkened, his fingers clenching in the sheets with no abandon. He didn't look away from me, the walls guarding his eyes cracking and crumbling until I could perceive the fear hiding there. The layers stripped away, peeling back and _down, down, down _and revealing all the emotion I didn't believe Henry possessed. He was always so calm...no, not calm, but definitely in control no matter now mad he became. He always looked at things with vague amusement, as if the entire world and he were in on an inside joke that no one else would ever understand. He was so old, and yet he acted so young, his eyes lighting up like an adolescent's and shining, _brilliantly shining, _like a five year old child on Christmas morning, _all the time_. His emotions were always extremes, either the shining eyes or rage with a force of fifty steam engines.

The grief I could see, rearing up whenever Henry saw Mary and I. Not out of jealousy, no, not at all, rather a sense of loss and pain. I am sure he sees his lost love instead of seeing us. Hurt clouds his eyes, as well as a sense of protectiveness. Not of Mary, but of our emotion, and I thank him for that. I thank him for wordlessly offering himself as our protector, even if it is for his own benefit, because he can't bear to see his pain marring anyone else's features. I can never blame him for that.

Now, seeing everything he feels and everything he thinks charging around on the surface of his eyes, was almost overwhelming. I fought to hang on to my control.

"Get it out," he whispered, his voice a low and rasping, fearful attempt at a monotone.

This time when his eyes shone, it was not in amusement but in fear.

"Tell me how it happened, Henry. I'll remove it, I promise. Just trust me, please."

After a moment, a long, painstaking moment, he nodded the affirmative and I sat back to hear the tale...

_Wind blew harshly as Henry ran, boots pounding against the cobblestones. He had never run from an enemy before, never in his entire life, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't trip or falter, he was barely ahead as it was, and he was tiring. Oh, he was so tired. He couldn't turn around, or all would be lost._

_The sole of his boot caught on a rough stone and he was falling, his face hitting the ground and the soft skin of his cheek tearing, only to be healed immediately, leaving nothing but dirt behind. He tried to scramble to his feet, taking one, two steps before he crashed into his pursuer. A hand gripped his throat tightly and then he was dangling in the air, clawing at the fingers crushing his windpipe._

_"You thought you could run forever, didn't you Kitten?" the shadow whispered, shining teeth flashing in the dark as he squeezed harder._

_As quickly as it had come, the teeth and the smile disappeared and Henry was thrown to the ground. He was ruthlessly pounded, boots connecting savagely with this torso and his head, the words the shadow whispered pounded into his skull._

_"Adam wants information on that little pet of yours, the hunter. You will lead me to him now, won't you Kitten? You- will- take- me- there!"_

_"Who are you?" was all Henry could gasp before the boot connected with is mouth and he choked on his own blood. The world was spinning dangerously, made up of only points of pain and flashes of light in an endless dark._

_"I am Christian, I am the death of you."_

_Henry choked on a laugh despite his situation, trying to force it back but failing miserably. Christian's, face twisted with rage and Henry knew he was only digging his own grave, but he couldn't stop. He was never one to stop, and his pursuer, well... Christian didn't know what he was like._

_Christian didn't seem to be amused._

_"What's funny, you vampire scum!?" Christian yelled, gripping Henry's throat again and hoisting the vampire into the air once more. He growled savagely at the boyish grin that still stretched Henry's features._

_Suddenly, something broke the skin and flesh of Henry's side. It burnt as it tore through the tissue, ripping and breaking and he screamed, the pain clouding his eyes as blood forced its way up his throat._

_Christian laughed, pleased that the smirk had left his victim's face._

_"Still happy, Kitten? Whatever happened to that smile of yours?"_

_Henry tried to speak, he really did, but everything hurt. The burning never ceased, the pain never dissipated. What was worse, worse than any and all of that, was the feeling of something inside you. A foreign body. A foreign, unwanted body. Henry could feel it crushing his innards, ripping him apart from the inside out. Poisoning him, killing him. Oh, it hurt._

_"Will you tell me now, Kitten? Tell me and the pain will stop." Christian's voice had become sickly sweet, dripping over them both like treacle. It pushed the pain back, as if to give Henry a taste of freedom, of what would happen if he agreed. It sung sweetly in the air, music to Henry's ears, bittersweet and oh so dangerous. Like a flame, tantalizing and beautiful, only to burn you if you come too close._

_The boyish grin returned to Henry's features and he allowed his eyes to close, almost feeling Christian's smug aura against his own skin, before he gathered his saliva and spat it out at Christian's face._

_He didn't even try to hold back his own smug smile as his side burnt again, and the world turned black._

"Please, Abraham," Henry begged, pulling me from my shocked thoughts. "Please...it hurts..."

I breathed deeply, closing my eyes and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. My head was spinning, my blood running cold. I couldn't hurt him, I couldn't, but not removing the silver would hurt Henry more than anything else.

I needed to think. I needed time.

"Abe..." Henry gasped brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately trying to breathe. "It's poisoning me, Abe, the silver." His voice cracked and he swallowed harshly. "Vampires, we're...allergic to it. Soon I'll... my airways will close. I'll be forced into a state of paralysis, then unconsciousness. I'll... I'll die, Abraham, slowly. _Help me, please. I don't want to die."_

My eyes locked with his as he pleaded, the fear in his eyes almost crippling.

And slowly, ever so slowly, I nodded.

Henry's eyes shone with relief before his eyes drooped closed, thick lashes gently brushing his pale cheeks. He breathed slowly, too slowly, his skin white and cold. I squeezed his hand in my own, bringing it to my mouth and pressing my lips gently across his knuckles. I brushed dark hair back, off his forehead. His breathing evened further.

And as Henry's last waking breath escaped his lips, his hand going slack with sleep as it rested in my own, I heard his voice, memories, thoughts, his _life, _play out amongst the air. The sigh revealed all, unguarded, pure, honest. My friend was finally revealed to me, in all his emotion and glory. Finally, the man I'd always wanted to meet.

_Sleep well Henry._

_I'll figure it out._

_I promise._

_"I wondered how long it would take for the little kitten to break. You've come at last. Welcome, to my humble abode!"_

_Christian threw his arms wide, gesturing about the hall with a manic grin. It was a large space, complete with sweeping curtains, marble pillars and white archways. No light flitted in through the windows despite the dawn sun peaking over the horizon, the hall shadowed and dark. Christian's booming voice echoed off the walls, bouncing backwards, forwards, into his own ears again and making them ring with the force of the vibration._

_The echoes finally died and silence greeted him._

_Christian faltered._

_Not a moment later he was forced backwards, a hand at his throat, fangs piercing his neck and drawing blood. He did not struggle, instead forcing himself to remain still, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. As his head pounded he felt the liquid stolen from his veins, his very being. The world swam, his eyes clouded._

_It felt like eternity before his attacker released him, and Christian found himself face to face with none other than Adam, the vampire's fangs dripping red, eyes glinting maliciously in the dark._

_"My Lord."_

_Adam smirked, finally releasing him, before moving to take a handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wipe the contours of his mouth until each was free of blood._

_"A little slow, are we? Christian?"_

_"Yes, my Lord. Sorry, my Lord. I did not..." Christian faltered again and Adam waited patiently for him to finish. "I thought I heard the human. I thought...he was..."_

_"Christian," Adam replied, his voice gentle, as if he were a father speaking to his child and not a vampire to his human pawn. "You've just gotten ahead of yourself, that is all. You must remain calm."_

_Adam then pressed his own handkerchief against Christian's neck to staunch the bleeding, bring his disciple close in the process._

_"Now," he began softly, "have you succeeded? You must report, quickly."_

_Christian began his recount immediately, stumbling over his words. His eyes were still glazed, his mind foggy, and his tongue felt like a dead weight in his mouth._

_"I hunted the scum, like you said, and I l-let him live so that he could g-go to his pet, the other hunter. I had to, he wouldn't tell me about the him. I couldn't make him t-talk so I sent the m-message, like you told me, I made sure it was a message and I m-made sure the pet knew. I used the silver, you said s-silver. He was screaming, my Lord, you t-told me to make him scream..."_

_Adam let his mouth twist into an awkward fond smile, reaching up with his free hand to brush Christian's light hair back. The silence was thick, and the sound of his disciple's heart pounding ruthlessly against his ribcage was the only thing breaking through such a heavy cloak._

_"Good, very good. You've done well. He'll come for you now, I trust you to handle yourself."_

_Christian nodded slowly, willing his eyes to focus, and when they finally did Adam was gone, the bloody handkerchief in his hand the only proof that his master was ever there at all. He slid down the wall, head spinning, and breathed deeply. Feeling air move in and out of his lungs was strangely calming, distracting him from his nervousness, his fear, the ache in his neck. He let his head fall back._

_Slinking through the dark shadows underneath the window, Abraham blinked repetitively._

_Had anyone seen, he would've blamed it on the sunlight._

_The sunlight that was yet to come._

When I returned to my lodgings, Henry was still gripped in the clutches of an uneasy sleep, toeing the fine line between dreams and unconsciousness. I blew out the two candles, the light suddenly replaced with the yellow glow shining through the window and the cracks in the wooden walls. Henry didn't acknowledge the change.

Although I was dreading the following hours, I still made my way over to the chair at my friend's bedside, pulling it up close and gently shaking him awake.

"Henry... Henry, speak to me."

He responded sluggishly, his eyes blinking open, more lines of pain emerging above his brows, burrowing their way into his soft skin and marring his young face. He groaned softly, his hands clenching in the white sheets, the sweat soaking his skin glinting in both the firelight and the early morning sunshine. He slurred my name as I eased him into the world of the living as gently as I could.

When his dazed eyes finally locked with mine I spoke again.

"How do you want this done, Henry? Do you want to go to sleep again?"

His eyes darkened and he shook his head stiffly. My hand tangled with his, squeezing gently to reassure us both, and he took deep breaths to calm himself.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

I moved my free hand to his injury, my eyes never leaving his face even as I felt around the wound. He continued staring straight up, his brown orbs locking with the cracks in the ceiling and his fingers putting pressure on mine. As I began to press through his skin, into his flesh, my fingers coating themselves in his blood, he snapped his eyes shut, sweat beading on his brow and breathing turning ragged.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

I slowly moved down his side, until I was sitting directly in line with the bloody injury. My hand released his, and I used my shaking fingers to pry apart prices of haggard flesh. A terrible noise escaped Henry's clenched jaw and I faltered.

After seconds of silence, I swallowed the bile forming in my throat and pressed on, forcing my fingers to delve in deeper. Desperately attempting to block out the awful squelches, sounds like boots stomping down a muddy path, sticking, pulling. Finally, one large piece of flesh was moved aside and the silver was revealed. The tiny stars. This glinting, shining.

I looked away.

"Please, Abe. _Please._"

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

The process took longer than I'd have liked. If felt like longer still. The first time I touched the silver was by far the worst, as if the metal sent out electrical currents as it came in contact with my hand, paths of fire burning through Henry's veins. He screamed once, whimpered countless times, tear tracks marring his drawn and pale face.

After a time I was finally able to touch the silver without such a reaction, earning only a wince and muffled cries instead. It was then that I decided to force it out, using my fingers to dig around the metal, desperate to find an edge. The cries increased in volume, although Henry did nothing to object.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. It was selfish, the most selfish I had ever been, because Henry needed me and I was letting him down. I couldn't watch him, see how much I was hurting him, because I was afraid of feeling his pain and my fear overrode my other emotions. Overrode my compassion.

_Forgive me, Henry._

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

The pad of my forefinger finally caught on a crevice. One, then two, and finally there was an edge, something to grip. I let out a sigh of relief, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. My fingers then moved of my own accord. The hand that had yet to find anything that it could hold on to, slid away from the flesh. It travelled over the silver, smearing red over the shining surface, and then in to hook around the edge alongside its pair.

I began to pull backward.

The pain Henry was feeling flared and he gasped, red burning beneath his eyes, air escaping his lungs. His nerves screamed and so did he, the sound sifted through clenched teeth. His back arched off the bed, his eyes watered.

I still couldn't look.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

Just as I thought Henry's heart could take no more, the silver slid free and my friend collapsed back, panting heavily. I sat staring, unbelieving, my eyes darting between my friend, the wound, and the blood on my hands. I looked down at the silver, turning it in my hand, seeing the carvings around the rim and the smooth interior.

A platter, tray, dish curved into a cylinder.

Before I could realize that I'd thrown it, it was clattering against the wall, the ringing echoing around the room.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

My attention returned to my friend.

I had enough sense part of the sheets, a section not sullied by blood and sweat against the wound, both fascinated and relieved when I saw the blood flow slowing. Henry was breathing deeply again, eyes open but dazed. I moved forward, until my orbs met his, needing to know if he was fine. If we were okay. If it was over.

Relief and gratitude shone out of his eyes, glittering, blinding. He smiled, and so did I. My bloody fingers tangled with his, laughter bubbling in my throat. I let it roar, maniacal, eccentric, happy. My face was pressed into his palm, twisted into an eternal smile and so very, very, relieved.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

My happiness was short lived, fading as quickly as it had come, and I stood suddenly.

Henry, although shocked, did not release my hand.

"I will kill him," I whispered, barely believing my words. Then, more confidently, "I will kill him!"

I tried to pull back, to run, but Henry did not let me. Faster than even I could imagine, he had my arm in a vice grip, almost painful in its harshness.

I didn't know where I would've headed had he not stopped me, but he did, and for that I am grateful.

"You are not leaving me, Abraham!" he shouted, jaw shut firmly, eyes hard. Seeing him like that snapped me to attention, to the present while still reminding me of the past. When he was my mentor. When that voice was my command, no exceptions.

"We will hunt Christian together, neither of us can handle him alone. I will heal in a few hours Abe, we will go then, both of us. You will not leave without me." His voice was strong and commanding, and I found myself nodding without meaning to.

Henry relaxed immediately, releasing my arm and falling back onto the sheets. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, or, in this case, his innards. I sat next to him, and we breathed together.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In... out..._

And Henry drifted into sleep.

That is the sequence of events that found me outside the rundown ballroom on the north side of town, Henry weak but standing strong at my side. It was mid morning, only a few hours since the procedure I preformed on my friend, and my hands still stank of blood. My axe was held firmly in my left hand, Henry standing just behind be, and the air around us was fresh. Scents drifted in from the windows, flowers, plants, water, wood. I focused on my senses and Henry on my heart beat.

Together, we were unstoppable.

For this reason and this reason alone, it had been easy to subdue Christian. Adam wasn't present, and neither Henry nor I expected him to arrive. I was a little rusty with my axe, but with confidence and my friend at my side I still found victory, the battle like a second chance at life. A doorway to my future.

And as Christian sat, cowering before us, I contemplated mercy. Henry could not look at the man, so it was my decision. I held my blade at his throat.

That is what my life was. A figurehead. A nation. A choice. Life and death and the end, it was all me. I was a shadow, looming over the vampires, the country, bearing the weight of the light like shadows do. Because the closer you get to the light, the greater your shadow becomes, the stronger it needs to be.

And strength, I decided, was in the decision. Should I show mercy, be strong for my friend and take a moment of peace, or be strong and show justice. Pure justice, for I'd long given up vengeance. Was I strong?

I breathed.

Christian took the opportunity, knocking me back into Henry, who caught me before any damage could be done. He took off, leaving Henry and I standing together, breathing. Not defeated but oh so close.

"I'd best go after him, Abe."

I turned, shocked, ready to argue until my last breath.

"Calm yourself," he chuckled, his eyes glinting just like I remembered.

Then, as I saw that glint, that sparkle, my argument was lost.

"Stay safe, Henry. Stay alive."

He laughed this time, properly, shifting from one foot to another in boyish apprehension. It only took him a second to pull me into a hug, and embrace that I returned gratefully, holding his body close and feeling my heart beat against his chest. He must have sensed my worry, for when he spoke next it was he who reassured.

"We will meet again, Abraham. This is not the end of us."

I nodded, hoping, wishing, that he was not mistaken. I didn't want him to leave, but I didn't want us to part ways for longer than my mortal life would allow.

So Henry and I stood, my forehead resting against his, his breathing heavy and reassuring. For a moment we simply were, my hand fisting in his hair, his in my cotton shirt. We were sharing the same air, the same moment, just standing, no worries and no consequences. We just needed each other, just for a moment longer, our last, unspoken goodbyes.

And finally, when my heart rate calmed and I was at peace, I loosened my grip on his dark locks and our eyes met once again. He smiled at me, a smile that I returned happily.

I blinked and he was gone.

As the sounds of the life around me echoed in my ears, I let out a long breath, a symbol of my ease. Finally, after all these years, I was sure.

I had a great destiny.

It was only a matter of time.

And I would see Henry again. I didn't know when, or how, but I knew I would.

No matter the consequence; I wouldn't stop for the world.

**~.~**

**FIN**


End file.
